The phenomenon of the aurora was explained to us, but to our childish imagination Aurora ever remained a maiden whose wonderful hair of rainbow tints lit up the northern sky.
We talked of Aurora, we dreamed of Aurora, and now we are off to see the charming ice maiden of our childhood fancy.
Off to Alaska. For years we have dreamed of it; for days and weeks we have breakfasted on Rocky Mountain flora, lunched on icebergs and glaciers and dined on totem poles and Indian chiefs.
Much of the charm of travel in any country comes of the glamour with which fable and legend have enshrouded its historic places.
America is rapidly developing a legendary era. Travel up and down the shores of the historic Hudson and note her fabled places.
The “Headless Hessian” still chases timid “Ichabods” through “Sleepy Hollow.” “Rip Van Winkle,” the happy-go-lucky fellow, still stalks the Catskills, gun in hand. The death light of “Jack Welsh” may be seen on a summer’s night off the coast of Pond Cove. “Mother Crew’s” evil spirit haunts Plymouth, while “Skipper Ireson” floats off Marble Head in his ill-fated smack.
With a cloud for a blanket the “Indian Witch” of the Catskills sits on her mountain peak sending forth fair weather and foul at her pleasure, while the pygmies distil their magic liquor in the valley below.
“Atlantis” lies fathoms deep in the blue waters of the Atlantic, and the “Flying Dutchman” haunts the South Seas.
We have our Siegfried and our Thor, whom men call Washington and Franklin. Our “Hymer” splits rocks and levels mountains with his devil’s eye, though we call him dynamite.
Israel Putnam and Daniel Boone may yet live in history as the Theseus and Perseus of our heroic age.